


Eyes Like Knives

by thevillageofbree



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-04-12 06:15:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4468370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevillageofbree/pseuds/thevillageofbree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates humans, but this one human refuses to be anything but kind to her. If anything that makes her hate him more. Daveth/Tabris, expansion on the City Elf Origin, told in short drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sharp

_In Denerim's Alienage, it was tradition not to name a child until they reached their sixth year. It came about as a pathetic attempt to prevent attachment to something likely to die. In hindsight, it did nothing to prevent attachment, if anything it made it fester, like an infection._

Cyrion and Adaia's daughter was…something. She was a little thing, smaller than all the other elves her age and all sharp edges where she should have been soft. This had been cause for concern, they fed her and fed her as much as they could but it never changed. She was just sharp, everywhere. A nose so pointed it could pierce through skin and a glare that could cut like razor blades. They fretted, trying to figure out what they had done wrong, their niece and nephew hadn't looked this way, they were all chubby cheeks and big round eyes while their daughter resembled a walking armoury. For a long time they were sure she would never get a name, they were so sure that their sharp little girl would slip through their fingers that they never even bothered to pick one. Shianni had already been named when Cyrion brought her to the Alienage and Soris was named by his father before he died, but their little girl had no hope and everyone knew it.

It was her third birthyear when she caught the flu. Adaia disappeared for a month and wouldn't tell Cyrion where she had gone, but he noticed her daggers were missing. When he was worried he liked to confront his problems, he liked to hold his child and pretend he believed she would survive, but his wife ran. She liked to hit things,  _hurt things_. Her child was small, so small and sharp, like a blade. How could a blade be hurt by a blade? That was her reasoning when she passed her daughter a dagger and told her to stab. If she was going to die, she might as well do it with a blade clutched in her small bony fingers. Cyrion didn't agree. This was one of the many things they fought about. His daughter coughed and spluttered and he held her in his arms, ran his fingers through her short black hair and told her she would be fine, while Adaia pushed a dagger into her hands and told her to slash. She wanted to fight, Cyrion wanted to live.

At four their little girl fell down a flight of stairs. Shianni said she heard her arm crack like a twig. Within a week Adaia was gone again, but Cyrion stayed at his daughter's side, watching her face contorting in pain as he rubbed poultice after poultice on her injured arm.  
"Two more years, Little One." He breathed, "Just hold on for two more."  
Every healer who came to see her said she needed magical help, but Cyrion couldn't afford a mage. He didn't know where his wife had gone, and he didn't know when she would be coming back. Soris sat by the bed, one small hand on the girl's tiny forehead, his face contorted in concentration. He said he might be a mage, he said that if his cousin needed him to be he would. The boy was too young to understand that one is either a mage or they aren't, but he just pressed his hand firmer against her skin and continued trying. Adaia came back after a month, scarred and exhausted. Behind her was a woman, Adaia wouldn't speak her name and neither would she. Her voice came out in heavy Orleisan and her fingertips glowed with magic as they pressed on his daughter. Cyrion wept.

No one in the Alienage understood how she made it to five. Their little girl was sharper than ever, in not just her features but her tongue as well. The elves didn't know that she carried a dagger on her hip, Adaia had hidden it there and told her to kill. She pulled it out on a human who called her knife-ear, too bad he had one himself, and it was bigger than hers. Adaia found her before she bled out, the man's knife in the air ready to take a second swipe at her face. He never had a chance. If there was one thing Cyrion's wife knew how to do, it was kill. They didn't have time to hide the body, the humans vowed to come back, but Cyrion didn't hear. He was weeping as he clutched his bleeding daughter to his chest. His wife didn't understand how a blade could pierce their daughters steel skin, but she understood how to dress a wound. The cut was shallow, their little girl would yet live, but she would be scarred. Cyrion took Adaia's blades and hid them, because for the first time in five years, he believed his daughter had a chance.

It was an hour till midnight. Cyrion sat with his daughter in front of the fire, her sharp dagger eyes glinting at him. She smiled at him toothily, that seemed the only way she knew how, displaying rows of sharp teeth and reminding him that his little girl was still alive. He remembered her sharp little body, so small, so dangerous and how sure they had been she wouldn't make it, but here she was. His little girl was made for this world, she was a sword and a shield built into one, sharp enough to slay her foes, but strong enough to survive the ordeal. The small elven girl sitting before him was the perfect embodiment of both mother and father, she was everything to him. His little girl.  
The clock was ticking and he held his breath. Ten more minutes. How could it be so frightening? His daughter leapt from her chair at the sound of a scream, her eyes wide and piercing.

"Da…?" She asked, her voice wavering.

He ruffled her hair, trying hide the way his hands shook. Eight minutes, "Wait here, little one."

She nodded, her quick little fingers groping her hip for the dagger that was no longer there. Cyrion stood from his chair and walked to the door, counting his heartbeats and counting the seconds. Seven minutes left. He pushed the door open and stepped into the darkness, the world around him cold. Adaia was there. Standing the way she always had, strong, fighting, always fighting. Cyrion remembered the daggers, he remembered how he hid them. He remembered the humans who sought revenge. Four minutes. His little girl was waiting for him inside, his wife was too far away. He broke into a sprint, his breath was ragged and his heart was pumping, but he was too late. Adaia fell to the ground with a thump, the humans didn't wait another moment before turning and walking away. Cyrion tried to scream at them, he tried to be like Adaia or like his daughter, but he couldn't. He fell to his knees.

The clock struck twelve. His daughter had survived. But his wife had not.


	2. Seventy Bits

_She was seven when she left the Alienage the first time. Though she wasn’t as tall as her cousin Shianni, she made up for it with determination. Her thin little fingers were good for climbing, finding cracks to cling to and pulling herself up, the Alienage walls had been a synch. Though that was the first time, it wasn’t the last._

Her eyes were sharp and her blades were keen, she put her skills to use. Cutpurse is what they called her, but that wasn’t what she called herself, what she did was just business. A slice here, a swipe there; it was methodical, it was her _job_. Cyrion didn’t approve, Cyrion thought his job at the docks made enough coin, Cyrion told her to stop calling him Cyrion. She didn’t listen, she made a living from not listening. _If Cyrion had let mother keep her daggers she would still be alive._

It wasn’t until nine that she met him. _The Shem_. She had made her way into the noble district, the best place for the best coin, but _only_ if you knew what you were doing. She knew what she was doing, her mind was sharp and so were her wits, she _always_ knew what she was doing. Her shoulder bumped him and her dagger swiped across his purse, she smiled toothily as the coin fell into her hand. _It was just business._ It took her a good hundred meters before she noticed something wrong, the purse hanging from her belt felt a great deal lighter. She scowled. Whichever rich shem _bastard_ did that was going to pay. Her eyes glinted like daggers as they locked on his back, the shem whose purse she had cut. She cut his and he cut hers back. She gritted her teeth and started towards him, her sharp nails biting into her palms because her blade was calling her name. While she was smart for her age, and sharp for her age, she was still only nine and she had a temper. That temper was her only weakness.

She crept up behind him, silent and quick. Her stealth was different to others, most moved slowly, smoothly, her movements were sharp but quiet. She moved like a knife instead of a shadow, slicing the air, cutting towards him. Her hand swiped out, ready to pull him back against her and press her dagger to his throat, ready to take back what was hers.  
“You don’t need to do that.”  
She froze. Her fingers were wrapped around the hilt of her blade and her fingernails were just barely brushing his tunic. Her eyes were wide and piecing, her heart beating louder than it ever had before. His hand was reaching back to her and for a moment she thought he might grab her, so she pressed her dagger against his spine.

“Don’t move.” She hissed.

He had the gall to laugh and she sucked in a breath, pressing the blade firmer against him, “ _don’t move_.”

The shem took a deep breath, “Do you want your coin back or not?”

Her hand shot out, the one not holding the knife. She held it beside him, expectantly, when he didn’t immediately give back her coin she punched him in the shoulder and held her hand out again. He flinched.

“You don’t _have_ to do that ya’know? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She scoffed, “Coin. Now.”

He managed to look at her over his shoulder. He couldn’t have been more than three years older than her, despite his height, “How ‘bout we trade, yeah? I give you yours, you give me mine?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I need it.”

“And you think I don’t?”

She glared at him, “You’re a shem, you don’t need nothin’”

“Not sure what a shem is, but I definitely need _something,_ little lady.”

“Shem means _human_.” She shoved him, “now gimme my coin.”

He sighed deeply, “Please. Let me keep some of it. I need to eat, I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

She took a deep breath. She was weary of him, so sure that this was just a ploy to kill her and take back the coin she stole. In her head she could hear Adaia telling her to kill him before he tried, but Cyrion pleaded for mercy, that was always his way. Her fingers tightened around her dagger for a second, her eyes narrowing and her heart beating. In the end she dropped her arm with a sigh, releasing the shem from her grip. Adaia was cursing her, Cyrion was weeping with joy.

The shem turned to face her, the top of her head barely reached the base of his chest. His eyes were soft and he seemed so…trustworthy. Her upper lip curled, she was too smart to trust him. If he was lying she could cut him down without a moment’s regret. He smiled at her, she scowled.

“How much coin can I keep?” He asked, sincere. Decent.

She clenched her fingers around her dagger and made sure to keep it in his sight. It was there and it was calling for blood, “fifty bits’ll be enough.”

He grinned, “Make it a silver and we have deal.”

She growled at him, “Seventy bits. _That’s it._ ”

“Fine. Seventy it is.”

She held out her hand and glared up at him, standing as tall as she could. He looked at her a second, his eyes meeting hers. Hazel and steel. The second she had her coin she stepped back, holding her dagger in front of her.

“ _Never_ cut my purse again, shem.” She hissed, slowly walking away from him, never breaking eye contact.

He smirked, “Wasn’t planning on it, little lady.”

“Don’t call me that, M’not a lady.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Nothing”

She turned and ran.


	3. Pity

They bumped into each other, again and again. Eventually she had to stop writing it off as coincidence. He found her one evening, at her favourite spot, sitting just atop the Alienage walls. She liked it there because she could see out into the world beyond, but still have the comforting feeling of home at her back.

She didn't say anything when he climbed up after her. Just glared at him, hand subconsciously drifting towards her dagger. Her whole body tensed up and she was ready to run, ready to fight, but he didn't move an inch, except to rest his chin on his palm. All her instincts told her she shouldn't trust him, but he hadn't hurt her so far, why would he now? He was smiling gently and looking out at the horizon, almost as though she wasn't there.

"Sunset's beautiful, aint it?" He breathed.

"Why are you up here?"

He shot her a grin, "Am I not allowed to be, little lady?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm up here, 'cause I want to be."

"That's a stupid answer."

"It's the only one you're getting."

She huffed and looked down at her feet, where they were hanging over the wall. They were a good ten feet off the ground, high enough to see the world outside Denerim, the endless expanse of grass and rolling hills that she had always dreamed of. She'd never felt grass, at least, not real grass. The Alienage had weeds growing in-between the cracks in the ground, snaking up walls and sprouting small flowers that made Soris sneeze. Adaia said she was going to take her into the world beyond, let her feel the grass between her toes and the clean breeze blowing through her hair. She lied. She never said she was going to die.

"I could push you off, y'know?" She said to the shem, "Your head would smash and you'd be dead."

He shrugged, "You're not going to."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause if you were going to, you would have done it already."

He was right. She grimaced.

"So then, little lady-"

She cut him off, "I said don't call me that"

"Well what am I supposed to call you?" He asked, "You never gave me your name."

"I don't have a name."

The shem blinked slowly, stupidly, "Why don't you have a name?"

"'Cause I'm not old enough."

"I was named right after I came out me mum. Don't think you can be too young for a name."

She scoffed, "maybe that's what stupid shems think. Elves gotta wait till they're old enough."

"Why?"

"I dunno." She said shrugging, "it's just rules. Da said I wasn't ready, but Shianni said he wasn't ready. M'not sure what that means."

"If you got no name, then what d'your folks call you?"

"Da calls me Little One. Ma ain't called me nothin' since she died."

He didn't say anything that time. Instead, he pulled a small package out of his knapsack and started unwrapping it. Cheese. It was a large block of cheese, the kind that she sometimes stole from the market when the coin was scarce. He broke a piece off and passed it to her, almost carefully. She shoved it away.

"I don't want your pity."

"S'not pity. It's cheese."

She scoffed, "It's pity cheese. D'you think I'm stupid?"

"No…" He began, gently placing the cheese on her knee, "But I think you're hungry."

He was right. Again. She picked the cheese up gingerly and took a small bite, luckily he had turned to face the horizon again. The cheese was crumbly, but it was good, better than anything they could buy from the store in the Alienage.

"What's your name?" She asked the shem, the sky beginning to darken and the sun sinking below the horizon, "You never told me."

He smiled, "Daveth."

"That's a stupid name."

"Thanks."

They sat in silence for a while. Watching as the stars came out and decorated the sky. She loved the stars, because you could always see them, whether you're locked in the Alienage or outside the city walls everyone can see the same stars. She took another small bite of the cheese, savouring the taste and relishing in the cool breeze that was blowing through her hair. The shem –Daveth- was still sitting beside her, a soft smile on his lips and his chin on his palm.

"Where are your parents?"

The smile disappeared, "Ma's dead. Da said it was my fault." He paused, "He was probably right. I dunno if he's still alive, I ran away a year ago."

She looked up at him and silently passed the cheese back.

He laughed bitterly, "pity cheese?"

"'Course not. Don't be bloody stupid." She lied.


	4. Honest Day's Work

Winter hit Denerim hard that year. The city was too close to the coast to get any snow, it was all salty wind and ice. Most years it was bearable, but that year was different, the wind howled and tore at the Alienage roofs. Cyrion had three other families crammed into his home, and he had one of the bigger ones. With the weather as dangerous as it was, the danger of frostbite lurking just outside his door, he couldn't go to work at the docks, at least not every day. So it was her job to get the coin and was fine with it. Shianni knew how to cook and Soris knew a little herbalism, but she knew how to steal.

She'd turned ten at some point, though she wasn't sure when, once the ice starts forming everyone loses track of the date. All they know is how many days it has been since the torture started, no one ever knew how long it would last, most children didn't survive the winters. Plenty of elves would die unnamed that year. But not her, she was good at not dying. Cyrion pretended he didn't want her leaving the house, but he knew she was keeping them alive. Her sharp eyes and fingers were keeping them fed. So he'd dress her up in the warmest cloak that he owned and send her out the door. Tears in his eyes, his little girl in his heart.

With Cyrion not working, she had to steal double, that meant taking a job. She didn't _like_ taking jobs. She was freelance, she went where her fingers begged her and cut where her daggers pleaded, jobs meant rules and she didn't like them. Her eyes narrowed as she walked to the Shem in the market, he was always there, plump and healthy, so _easy to rob._ That wasn't true, you don't steal from Slim Couldry, it doesn't work. He _always_ knows.

"Ah, Elf, you're back." He said, with his stupid straight teeth glinting at her, "Come to make an honest picking, have you?"

She snorted, "I need four sovereigns. Got anythin'?"

"Maybe." He began, "Might be I already gave that job away, Elfy. I can get you 80 silvers? If you're quick?"

"You know I'm quick, Shem. But I need sovereigns. Da's feedin' half the Alienage nowadays." Her steely eyes glinted, sharp like knives, "you wouldn't know what that's like. So gimme the job."

"It’s not like that, Elf." Couldry began, doing that faux exasperated look he had perfected, "I can't just _give_ you a job I gave to someone else. Might be he's finished already."

A growl escaped her thin lips, "who'd you give it to?"

Slim shrugged, "human fellow, scrawny looking. You know I don't take names, Elfy."

She was fingering her dagger at this point, it was calling his name, "then tell me where he went."

"Gnawed Noble. What you do to him ain't my business, just make sure you bring back my share."

As she walked to the Inn she could feel the bite of the cold, the sharp wind attacked her face and made her shiver. She tugged her cloak tighter around her thin frame, leeching any warmth she could. Winter was synonymous with death in the alienage. The year before they’d lost three elves to frostbite and one to a broken leg from slipping on the ice, once the leaves started falling from the trees those in the alienage started preparing. Strengthening roofs, buying as many supplies as they could afford, praying for their young ones. The ones they knew were going to die.

The Inn door creaked as she pushed it open, slipping in as quietly as she could. There was a fire roaring in the hearth and she felt a pang on jealousy in her chest. It was so warm, so sturdy, so _alive_. Her eyes narrowed as they locked on him, just visible on the other side of the room, crouched before a chest and dressed in ill-fitting leathers. He was fiddling with a lock, not one other shem had noticed him. Shems were _stupid_ , that’s why they were easy to rob.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, not looking away from the chest.

She crossed her arms, “Getting some coin.”

The locked opened with a click and he shot her a smirk, “Looks like I’ve already _got_ the coin.” He said, pulling a key from the chest and tucking it into a pocket, “Why don’t you take another job, Little Lady?”

“’cause I need this one.” Her eyes met his, “I gotta get those four sovereigns, Daveth.”

He stood from the ground, heading down the hallway, “So you _do_ remember my name! Funny that, innit?”

“I _need_ this job.”

“So do I. I don’t fancy starving to death.”

Her hand shot out, grabbing him by the wrist, “Half the alienage is relying on me, you _stupid shem._ All of them will _die_. Let me finish the job!”

He took a deep breath and before she had time to pull a dagger on him, the key was pressed into her palms. His eyes were soft. _Too soft._ Her eyes narrowed, she couldn’t help it. He knew how to be gentle, he knew how to be kind but she had never learned. Her first instinct was to kill, and so was her second. That was all Adaia had wanted to teach her, so that was all she knew.

“Why’d you do that?” she snapped, clutching the key tight in her palm.

He sighed, “Because you needed me to, Little Lady.”

“Daveth.” She warned, “if this is a trick. I _will_ kill you.”

“I know.” The shem paused, musing over his next choice of words, “I’ll let you take the sovereigns, if…”

She snorted, “There’s no _if_. I take the sovereigns, you leave me alone. Got it?”

“You take the sovereigns. And give me somewhere to sleep.”

“Why? S’not like I’ve got room.”

“’cause I don’t fancy _freezing_ to death either. Just for tonight, ill get another job tomorrow and get out of your hair.”

She squinted at him, “If you’re lying…”

“Hey, I may be a filthy liar, but never to you. Yeah?” Daveth replied, his lips curling up in a smirk, “I’m pretty fond of you, actually.”

She scrunched up her nose in disgust and shoved the key into the lock on one of the rooms, “That’s gross. Stop it.”

The door creaked open and the two of them were greeted with an empty room, save for the coin purse sitting on the end table, as though the noble residing there _hadn’t_ been expecting someone to rob them. Daveth grinned and swiped the purse, tossing it to her nonchalantly, “Can’t help being fond of you, little lady. You’re so very friendly.”

“Stop saying that stuff before I gut you, Daveth.” She hissed, opening the purse and swiping her share of the coin, “We gotta get back to Slim. Don’t be saying anything else _stupid_.”

The shem snickered at her as they closed the door and headed back outside, "You're prickly, aint'cha?"

She frowned at him, "yeah, so? Means I can keep you stinking shems away"

He chuckled, "think I'm gonna start calling you Briar, cause of those thorns."

"You can call me whatever, s'not like I've got a name yet or nothin'.” She retorted, tugging her cloak tighter as they stepped back into the wind, “But that don't mean you can boss me around!"

"Ouch!" Daveth exclaimed, "watch them thorns before you poke my eye out!"

 "Maybe I wanna be poking it out!"

“I happen to like my eyes.” Daveth said with grin, completely ignoring her blatant threat, “Yours aren’t so bad either. All steely.”

She peered at him out the corner of her eye, “Da says they’re dagger sharp. That I could cut someone with ‘em if I tried.”

“Can you?”

“Tried on Soris. Didn’t work.”


	5. Promises

The cracks in the Alienage walls were no harder for her to find in the cover of darkness than they were during the day. She could climb those walls with her eyes closed, she'd done it so many times it was almost second nature. The worn bricks were like family and the feel of the stone beneath her fingertips was like coming home.

"Are you comin' or not?" She hissed.

"Yeah." The Shem replied, "Just a second, I haven't climbed down the Alienage side of the wall before."

She groaned and crossed her arms. She didn’t have the _time_ for him to be stupid, Cyrion would be waiting. Soris would be panicking and Shianni's fingers would be reaching for the ale, " _hurry up._ If you take too long I won't let you inside."

"The walls are all icy."

She scoffed, "’course they are, it's _winter_."

She could hear him scuffling around, before gradually climbing down the wall. The Alienage was their place, the _elves’_ place. She shouldn't have been bringing him in. But she had to, she promised. She picked pockets and cut purses, but she didn’t break promises. Elves didn’t break promises, Adaia had taught her that. So the Shem was coming in.

There was a bite to the air, her hands were trembling and she could see her breath as it escaped her mouth. She hated winter, it was too cold and it could kill. The Alienage always smelt of death, but in winter it _reeked_ of it. Death made her angry. She didn’t know sadness, she only knew anger. Despite the darkness, she could still see Daveth climbing down the wall, and as much as she wanted to hate him. She couldn’t. The Shem didn’t belong in the Alienage, but she didn’t hate him.

His feet met the ground with a thump and she started walking.

"This way."

He followed, "Where are we going?"

"I told you, this way." she glared at him, " _quietly_."

The Shem nodded.

She walked quickly, feet not making a sound. Her eyes were sharp, even in darkness she could see as if it were light, she was like an animal. Nocturnal, stealing at night and hiding during the day. Daveth was quiet too, but he was clumsy, every few steps he’d stumble and she _hated_ it. Her fingers were beginning to freeze as she passed the Vhenadahl, she pressed her palm against its trunk, comforted by the solidity of it. That tree represented their strength, they were _strong._  

Daveth tripped over a root and she shot him a glare.

“Briar.” He began, she flinched unwillingly at the name, “I can’t see.”

“That’s because you’re _useless._ ” She hissed back, trying to ignore the twinge she felt in her stomach when a name that wasn’t hers escaped his lips. The elf scrunched her nose in disgust before shoving her hand towards him, “hold.”

The Shem blinked at her, like it wasn’t obvious what she needed him to do. She groaned. Her hand shot out and wrapped around his, “ _hold_.” She reiterated and Daveth nodded stupidly.

She tugged him onward, his hand was sweaty and gross despite the cold, but he wasn’t tripping as much. Alarith’s store was her destination. She liked Alarith, even though most other elves didn’t. Maybe that was just because he smuggled on the side, and bought the jewellery she stole, but she still liked him. Alarith also had a back room, hidden behind a shelf. That was where she’d hide the shem. As she snuck towards his door, Daveth almost collided with a low hanging beam and all she could do was tug him forward. His fingers tightened around hers. Her stomach twisted.

“Don’t say anything stupid.”

“Easy.”

“Don’t say _anything at all_.”

“Harder, that one.”

She sneered at him, and thumped on Alarith’s door, “I _mean it_.”

“Okay, Briar. No need to get so prickly.”

Every time that name came out of his stupid shem mouth, she could feel herself coiling tighter, one more twist and she’d be ready to explode. She knocked on the door again, “Stop calling me that.”

“Why? I thought it didn’t matter.”

She growled and knocked again, “It’s not my name.”

“I thought you didn’t have a name?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why does it matter?”

Her fists were clenched and she kicked the door this time. Her eyes were filling with tears and she didn’t know why, she was angry, _so angry_ , “It just does!”

“What do you want me to call you?”

“ _I don’t know!_ ”

Daveth turned her to face him, for some reason thinking it was okay to touch her. She snarled at him, fingers itching for her dagger. He couldn’t see her cry, Cyrion cried. Adaia died.

“And you’re sure I can’t call you, Briar?” He ask gently, _too gently_ , his hand resting on her shoulder where it shouldn’t have been.

A sob escaped her lips, an evil, _weak_ little sob, “I don’t know.”

The stupid shem thought her tears meant she needed a hug. So he gave her one. Her face was pressed into his leather cuirass, he smelt gross, he was gross. _Shems_ were gross, “Hey. S’alright, you don’t gotta cry.”

“M’not crying.” She forced out, for some reason burying herself deeper into his embrace, “you’re just stupid.”

He laughed, “Yeah. I am. You’re always right.”

“I know.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, quiet sobs were escaping her lips and she didn’t know why. She _hated_ them. She was strong, she was brave, and she was a knife. She was sharp, not soft like Cyrion or Soris. She was like Adaia, she could _fight_. Out the corner of her eye she saw Alarith standing in his doorway and pulled herself from Daveth’s arms

“Keeping callin’ me Briar.” She breathed, and she shoved him to Alarith’s store before either of them had time to say a word, “Hide the shem. I promised we’d take care of him.”

Alarith nodded. He was good at not asking questions.

“Briar.” Daveth said gently, Alarith had already turned and walked back into his shop, but the shem lurked in the doorway. A smile tugging at his lips.

She squinted, “What?”

“Thanks.”

Then he was gone.


	6. First Blood

**Daveth kept calling her Briar, but no one else knew. No one else knew that Daveth existed. She’d kept him a secret, though she wasn’t sure why; only Alarith had ever seen him and he never asked where he had come from, only if he would be coming back. She didn’t know. Part of her hoped he would.**

She was eleven when she first got Shianni and Soris to leave the Alienage with her. Shianni had wanted to for a long time, Soris hadn’t. They climbed the wall much slower than she would have liked, but she knew they weren’t as strong as her, so she didn’t have it in her to mind.

Soris was still sitting on top of the wall by the time she and Shianni had made it down the other side. She was tightening her coin purse around her waist. It was empty now, but it wouldn’t be when she was finished.   
“Getting cold feet, Soris?” Shianni called up to her cousin. The eldest elf was kneeling atop the wall, cautiously looking down, “Stop sweating so much or you’re going to slip off!”   
Soris visibly shook, “don’t _say_ that, Shianni. I’ve just… never been up this high before.”   
“Maker’s breath…” Shianni whispered to her, “He sweats like a shem doesn’t he?”  
She snickered, “smells like one too. Come on, Soris!”  
“Okay!” he began, slowly lowering himself down the side of the wall, “I’m coming!”

When he finally reached the floor, she began leading them towards the Pearl. That was where the rich shems went to stick their cocks in a whore, and more importantly, their coin in someone else’s pocket. She had tried to rob the Pearl before, but it was hard. It was a job that required a distraction, two distractions at least, and that was how many cousins she happened to have.   
“This _job_ we’re helping with…” Soris started. Shaking like a leaf, “Is it going to be safe?”  
“Yes.”  
“Is it going to be legal?”  
“No.”  
“How illegal is it going to be?”  
“Very.”  
“Are we going to…kill someone?”  
She laughed at that, “If we’re lucky.”

Soris paled and Shianni nudged him, “Cousin is just joking, Soris.”   
“Didn’t sound like she was joking.”

She rolled her eyes. Though she loved her cousins, she couldn’t deny that they were stupid, “We aren’t going to kill anyone, Soris.”  
“Then…what _are_ we going to do?”   
“You.” She began, “are going to break a pot. Shianni is going to stand in an alley and scream.”

Soris couldn’t find a way to reply. So the three of them walked in silence. Her cousins only had to do little jobs, but they were still little jobs she’d never manage to do herself and still slip in and steal the coin. All her job relied on, was the owner being furious that his pot cracked, and the mistress thinking the scream was one of her whores and going outside to check. She knew it would work. Because she was clever, and all shems were stupid.

***

It took them about fifteen minutes to reach the whorehouse. Soris had asked to turn back more times than Briar could count, and she could count to a sovereign. Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest, the anticipation of feeling the weight of that coin in her pocket was fuelling her. The young elf bared her sharp teeth and took a breath, she was ready, she was more than ready. This wasn’t just how she survived, this was how she _lived,_ she was smart, she was fast and she loved hurting the shems.

“Shianni, stay. Soris, come.”

The eldest cousin nodded firmly and gave the youngest a gentle smile, “See you soon, cousin!”

She didn’t reply, she just grabbed Soris by the wrist and pulled him into the Pearl. They had to be careful, the mistress didn’t appreciate children in her establishment, especially not dirty elf children. A smile slipped onto the young elf’s face, dirty children would be the least of her problems after tonight. It didn’t take long to find the vase, ornate and beautiful. Expensive, but not the sort of thing she could sell, and so worthless to her. Nothing of any material value meant anything to her, if it couldn’t be pawned it was worth less than dirt.

“It’s pretty.” Soris says.

She snorts, “Don’t cry when you break it.”

It had patterns on it. She didn’t know where it was from, but it clearly wasn’t Ferelden. Either way, it was owned by a rich shem, so she hated it.

“I’m going around to the back. Gimme a minute, then smash.”

Soris was shaking, it annoyed her, “Are you sure this is safe?”

“No.” she began walking away, “remember, a minute, then smash.”

When she was free of her cousin. She felt a weight lifted off her. This was how she liked to work, alone and quiet, nobody had ever caught her and nobody ever will. Even though she needed her cousins for this job she really wished she didn’t, there was nothing she loved more than working alone. The chest was in the back room, behind one locked door and then the chest had a lock of its own. The owner of the building was always watching the door, but with him out of the way and the mistress out of the building. This would be the best job yet. She could practically taste the sovereigns inside that chest. How many would there be? Tens? Hundreds? She was shaking with excitement. Ten more seconds and soris would smash the pot, just ten more.

Shianni screamed.

Too early.

Her head spun and her eyes locked on the door. Too early. Too early. Shianni had ruined everything! A growl escaped her lips.

Shianni screamed again.

That was a real scream.

Abandoning the shadows, she bolted for the door out to the alley. The patrons exclaimed angrily as she pushed past them and practically jumped through the door. Soris was following behind her, gait awkward and slow. Suddenly she could see Shianni. A guard had found her.

The shem was at least twice her size and garbed in silverite armour. But she was angry, her blood was boiling and she felt a growl escaping her lips. Ruining her catch was one thing, hurting her family was another. The dagger strapped to her thigh sang to her, and for the first time in a long time she answered its call, ripping it from it sheath and leaping onto the guards back. She was feral, screaming, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and he swung wildly, desperate the shake her off.

She dragged her blade across his throat before he could, and the guard slumped to the ground.

Soris stared at her, she was covered in blood and shaking, “you killed him.”

“Yes”

“Shianni said you were joking.”

She was angry. She’d lost her money, Shianni was attacked, Soris was being _stupid_ , “He was a _shem_ he is _dead_ and I don’t _care_.”

“What are we going to do?” Shianni whispered, she was shaking like a leaf, “The other guards will kill us.”

“Dump him in the well.” She said almost nonchalantly.

“How are we going to carry him?” Soris hissed, “he’s so big!”

“Shut up! We can do it if you stop being _dumb_.”

The three elves managed to slip their arms under the body, with the moons rising in the sky, they started carrying him back to the market.


End file.
